


Golden Flowers

by Evandar



Series: Elves in Love [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkward Sex, Love at First Sight, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:33:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2219406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/pseuds/Evandar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When fighting off the Wargs, Kili doesn't make it to the hidden path in time and is instead rescued by an Elf. He falls in love at first sight, but Dwarves only have one chance at love, and Glorfindel is everything his family disapproves of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this...yikes. Well over a year ago. It's not my favourite, but I've been over it and over it, so now it's time to post it. Hope you enjoy it!

Four arrows left.

He knew he was going to die. He didn’t want to – he wasn’t nearly ready for that – but he was trapped on the heath, surrounded by a rapidly shrinking circle of Orcs and Wargs. There was no time to run and he knew it; as soon as he turned his back, they would be on him. He was too far away from the ravine where the others were hiding. He’d be dead before he reached it. He was dead anyway. He was running out of arrows. 

Three.

Thorin was yelling for him; Fili was too, and it hurt to hear them. Hurt to know that they would be there, watching as he was ripped apart. They were too far away to help him – he’s the only archer in the company and Ori’s slingshot wouldn’t be any help – and the Wargs were coming too fast for him to do anything but shoot as fast as he could in hopes that he could take as many down with him as he could.

Two.

He didn’t want to die.

One.

A horn sounded, as loud and clear as one of the bells in Ered Luin, and an Orc fell to an arrow that wasn’t Kili’s. The earth shook with the thundering of hooves and Thorin’s voice was drowned out by the frightened death-cries of the Orcs and Wargs.

A hand gripped Kili by the back of his jerkin and pulled him up. Far up, onto the back of a white horse and into the arms of…was this an Elf?!

His heart stilled in his chest and he looked around wildly at the other riders. They were Elves, definitely Elves, with their sharp, curved weapons and flowing hair. Heartless, Dwarf-hating, pointy-eared bastards. He struggled, but the Elf that had him gripped him tight.

“Be at peace,” he said, right into Kili’s ear, and from the corner of his eye, Kili caught a glimpse of golden hair.

…

When the Orcs and Wargs were either dead or gone, the Elves fell back into formation and rode together. Kili hunched in close to his captor, making himself as small as possible to try and avoid notice while he observed this new enemy.

His uncle had told him a lot about Elves. Kili knew that they were fickle and heartless, and that they would turn on their allies at a moment’s notice. But Thorin hadn’t mentioned how lovely their voices were, or that they could laugh and joke like the dark-haired standard-bearers were doing.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, daring to raise his voice in question. He could only hope it didn’t get him pitched off the horse: it was a lot higher than a pony.

“To Imladris, Master Dwarf,” the Elf holding him replied. “Your kin are taking a different road, but their destination is the same. You will see them again soon.”

Elves lie, Thorin had said. Kili refused to let himself hope.

…

His Elf had not been lying, after all. Kili’s heart leapt to see his kin and Gandalf and Mr Baggins all together. But the Elves rode straight to them, circling and staring down at them, and Kili hated it. All he could think was that the Elves would attack and he would see the Company slain – that was the sort of cruel thing they did, wasn’t it?

But they didn’t. The tall Elf in dark red armour welcomed them instead, and offered them food – according to Gandalf, at least.

“Time to get you down, Master Dwarf,” his captor said.

Kili froze. Down how? The horse was so high up that Thorin’s head barely reached the Elf’s stirrups. But Fili was pushing his way towards him and he wanted – needed – to get down, so he braced himself for a hard push.

It didn’t come.

The Elf shifted, and with a whisper of movement and a creak of armour, dismounted himself before turning to Kili. As soon as their gazes locked, Kili’s heart skipped in his chest before squeezing hard, knocking the air from his lungs.

The Elf’s hair was indeed golden, and his eyes were a brilliant sky blue. His face looked young but ageless and breathtakingly lovely all at once. He smiled as he placed his hands on Kili’s hips and lifted him from the back of his horse – a kind and honest smile that went against everything Thorin had ever said about Elves.

Kili had to grip the Elf’s bracers to balance and he felt a blush rise in his face. He’d known Elves were beautiful – they had to be to hide their wicked hearts – but he hadn’t realised that they could look like this, or that they could smile at a Dwarf and mean it.

“There, Master Dwarf,” the Elf said once Kili’s feet were on solid earth once more. “You are returned.”

Returned to the ground, perhaps, and to his kin, but utterly lost in the tiny creases in the corners of the Elf’s eyes when he grinned.

Slowly, he forced himself to let go of the Elf’s forearms. It was harder than it should have been and that – and the pounding of his heart – told him that Thorin was going to kill him. He knew the symptoms just like any Dwarf did. He had found his One at last, but it wasn’t a pretty dwarrowdam with beads in her hair and beard. No, his One was an Elf with hair like sunlight and eyes like sapphires, and Kili didn’t even know his name.

“Thank you,” he choked out.

The Elf bowed his head and stood properly once more. Kili reached his belt – an excellently crafted article decorated with golden flowers – and even as Fili closed his hand about his arm and began to pull him away, he began to feel so very, very small.

…

He went in search of the forges the next day. If Rivendell had them, Kili intended to use them – he was in desperate need of replacement arrows. What he found, however, once he’d distracted Fili and headed off, was an obscene number of gardens and terraces and balconies overlooking the waterfalls. Not a single forge in sight.

He gave up and dropped down onto a bench and sighed. Not only had he not found a forge, but he was lost too. Thorin was really going to kill him this time – it was one thing to be scooped up onto an Elvish horse to escape Wargs; it was another thing entirely to wander off by himself in an Elvish palace.

(Kili hadn’t said a word about finding his One, either. He knew Fili suspected something, but as long as he didn’t guess it would all be fine. Kili could learn to live with his heart missing. He had to.)

He heard laughter and fair singing, and drew himself up. The Elves might mock him, but he really did need those arrows, and if he had to ask for directions then…

But it was not a stranger who rounded the corner; it was his Elf. Kili whimpered softly as his heart squeezed in his chest, and the involuntary noise drew the attention – not only of his Elf – but of his whole party. 

“Master Dwarf!” his Elf called out. “Are you lost?”

Kili nodded. “Aye,” he said, and was proud when his voice didn’t shake. “I was looking for the forges, unless you have none. I’m in need of new arrows.”

His Elf nodded and said something to his companions in their strange, fluting tongue. Then he stepped forward and touched his hand lightly to Kili’s shoulder.

“I will guide you,” he said, but Kili could barely hear him over the sudden pounding of his own heart. His Elf was touching him. Touching him! And that light brush of fingers on his leather jerkin was as bright and warming as a good hearth-fire.

“Come,” his Elf said, and Kili obeyed.

His heart slowed as they walked together through scented bowers and down winding stairs that connected terrace to terrace. His mind cleared as well, and he realised with sudden humiliation that not only had he been walking in the complete wrong direction, but that his Elf probably thought him a blithering idiot and rude to boot.

“I owe you my thanks,” he said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “For saving me and for guiding me now. Your kindness is great and I am in your debt.”

“There is no debt I would hold you to, Master Dwarf,” his Elf replied, and Kili winced at the reminder that he still hadn’t introduced himself.

“Kili,” he said. “My name is Kili, son of Vili, and I am at your service.”

He peeked upward in time to see his Elf acknowledge his introduction with a deep bow of his head and another heart-stealing smile.

“I am Glorfindel,” he said.

He did not give his father’s name, or his service, but perhaps it was different for Elves. Many things were, Kili suspected, but at least now he knew the name of his Elf.

Glorfindel. It suited him. It was something to haunt Kili’s dreams at night and warm his heart though his bed would be cold. His One, Glorfindel might be, but what love could there be between an Elf and a Dwarf?

…

Glorfindel did not abandon him as soon as they reached the forges, but neither did he enter with him. He remained outside, singing and gazing at the sky, while Kili made himself a new set of arrowheads. And though the forge was loud, Kili swore that he could hear him over the hammers and the bellows.

The day had gone by the time he stepped outside again. Glorfindel was star-gazing, and his pale skin shimmered with the same silvery light that held him captivated. Desire welled up in Kili so sharply that he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to touch the fall of soft hair; press kisses to the arched column of Glorfindel’s neck. He wanted to hear his name gasped in that fair voice and feel long fingers claw at his back.

It was so sudden and so strong that Kili staggered, dropping his pouch of newly forged arrowheads. Instantly Glorfindel was by him, supporting him with a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Kili? Are you unwell?”

Kili shook his head and leaned as far into Glorfindel’s touch as he dared. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life pretending this wasn’t real. There mere thought of the empty years stretching before him made him tremble. He would feed himself to Smaug before facing them alone as Thorin would wish him to.

(That was unfair, perhaps. He knew his uncle would have supported him in every way had his One been a Dwarf.)

“Kili?”

The light that shone from Glorfindel’s very being highlighted the concern on his face. Kili braved a smile for him.

“I’m alright,” he said.

“No, you are not,” Glorfindel argued. His hand tightened briefly on Kili’s shoulder. “What ails you?”

If Kili told him, what then? Disgust in his Elf’s eyes and shame in his uncle’s. If he did not speak, then at least he would be able to dream.

“It’s silly,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting you to be shining so. It startled me.” And he stooped to pick up his fallen arrowheads to hide his grief from piercing eyes.

“Such a glow is normal for Elves, especially those of us who have lived across the sea.”

He sounded so very sad that it broke Kili’s heart even further to hear it. He wracked his brain for anything to say, anything to change the subject and draw his Elf’s mind away from his old hurts. What came out – or so his brother would have said – was not the best substitution.

“Why did you save me?”

He risked a peek at Glorfindel’s face, and immediately regretted his words. His Elf’s youthful face was drawn and pale, and lost in dark thoughts and memories. Kili had caused that; Kili who loved him even though he didn’t know it.

“You reminded me of myself,” Glorfindel said after a moment, “a long time ago when Gondolin fell. I remained so that my people could escape.” His sigh made his whole being shudder. “But it was a long time ago, Master Kili, so not let it trouble you. You should return to your Company.”

So thorough was his dismissal that Kili said nothing all through the long walk back to Imladris’ main halls. It was only at their parting that he spoke; a simple, “thank you for helping me”.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as Glorfindel walked away.

His Elf heard – his footsteps faltered – but he did not reply.

…

It was very brave of him, he thought, to enter the library, even if he did have company in Ori and Balin. The dark-haired Elf who welcomed them pointed him in the direction of the Westron books on Gondolin with an easy manner but narrowed eyes.

“Perhaps he fears you’ll damage them,” Ori said. “Why Gondolin?”

“Uncle’s sword is from there,” Kili replied. It was a useful enough lie to tell.

But it was not Orcrist that he scoured the pages for; nor was it Gandalf’s new blade of similar origin. He looked for Glorfindel in the lists of names and tragedies, and stilled in disbelief when he found him. (Whoever had written the book had had the bad taste to illustrate it.)

At first he didn’t connect the image of an Elven warrior battling a demon on a precipice with the kindly Elf that was his One. But then he saw the banner of golden hair that escaped his helm and read the words next to it and realised that this was what he had been talking about; this was what he had meant.

He didn’t even think about hiding his reaction. How could he? The only thing he could think about was Glorfindel – finding him, making sure that he was alright and not buried in a flower-strewn cairn in the north. He slammed the book shut and fled, earning a startled glance from Ori and an offended one from the librarian. Balin’s reaction he didn’t have the chance to see before he raced off down the corridor. He was sure it was appropriately scandalised, but didn’t much care.

All he cared about was Glorfindel.

He found his Elf in the gardens again; reading in a small, flowered alcove by one of Rivendell’s many waterfalls. He lowered his book at Kili’s approach, startled and confused by the sight of the young Dwarf racing towards him.

He started to rise, Kili’s name on his lips, when Kili reached him and caught him up in his arms, pressing his face into Glorfindel’s firm belly and breathing in his scent. Strong hands gripped his shoulders but didn’t push him away, and Kili was glad – for the first time since he had realised Glorfindel was his One, he felt like he could breathe.

He didn’t know how long they stood there, but when he came back to himself, Glorfindel’s fingers were running gently through his hair and he was humming something soft and soothing under his breath. Kili felt himself relaxing, sinking bonelessly into that warm embrace.

“Better?” Glorfindel asked him, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yes,” Kili sighed. The light scratching of his scalp was making shocks of pleasure dart up and down his spine. The feel of Glorfindel in his arms, holding him back, filled him with painful hope. He pressed closer, earning himself a soft chuckle, and wished for the moment to never end. Happily would he stay here forever, in this peaceful garden, in this embrace.

But Glorfindel broke it, though briefly. He nudged Kili away long enough to return to his seat before drawing him close again. Kili stood between his slender thighs and wound his arms around his shoulders. He grinned against Glorfindel’s neck when he felt his hands close about his waist, and inhaled the sweet scent of his Elf’s hair.

This, this was even better. This was paradise.

“Will you tell me now what ails you?” Glorfindel asked softly.

Kili hesitated, but in the end the warmth of his Elf’s body won out. “Gondolin,” he said, and immediately felt Glorfindel stiffen in his arms. He tightened his grip so that he couldn’t pull away. “You mentioned it,” he said, “and I didn’t know what it was so I went to the library and –“ he broke off shuddering. Even the image of the Balrog was terrifying; the real thing was unimaginable.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” Glorfindel said. “A very long time.”

It had been, but that couldn’t make Kili let go.

…

The look on Fili’s face alone was enough to tell him how much trouble he was in. His brother’s eyes were wide and his teeth gritted as he dragged Kili away from the Company’s chambers.

“Have you gone mad?” he hissed when they were far enough away for privacy. “What is wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?” Kili asked quietly. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was in serious trouble, but he needed to know exactly how much and for what – it was the only way he could escape giving something away.

“Going to the library for a start,” Fili said. “Then slamming the books around and running off like you’ve seen Durin’s Bane itself – and then going missing! You were gone for an entire afternoon Kili! Yesterday too – you’ve not been acting like yourself since you came here.” He sighed, and his grip on Kili’s arm loosened a little. “Uncle’s worried. _I’m_ worried. What’s going on?”

Kili winced. He hated lying to Fili. He wasn’t very good at it, and he should have known that it would come to something like this – either him or Thorin, and truly, Kili would have preferred Thorin. He could lie to Thorin, if only because his uncle never expected him to.

“Fee,” he whispered.

“Tell me, Kili. Come on.”

“It’s…” he cringed. “Don’t be mad?”

Fili’s expression as he swore was decidedly unimpressed.

“I found my One,” Kili said. He was so nervous that it all came out in a rush, and as he stared into his brothers eyes – willing him to keep his word – he realised that it was taking Fili a moment to decipher what he’d said.

Then the hammer dropped. Fili gaped at him, and the hand he still had on Kili’s arm clamped down with bruising force. “An Elf?” he hissed. “The Elf? The one you rode here with?”

And, of course, once he had deciphered it, he understood even the parts Kili hadn’t said. That was Fili.

“His name is Glorfindel,” he said. “He’s a warrior.”

“He’s an Elf,” Fili reminded him. “Uncle will be furious.”

Kili nodded, bowing his head in shame and disappointment. “I know that.” How could he not?

…

Even knowing that Fili was watching him closely, and with the threat of his uncle’s disapproval still hanging over him, he still sought Glorfindel’s company. During the days and in the evenings, he would stick as close to his Elf as he could. The evenings were his favourite: as the sun set and the stars pricked through the darkening sky, he would watch the glow that lived in Glorfindel’s skin come alive.

And it was during one of those evenings that – feeling bold – he chanced to lean over and press his lips to Glorfindel’s.

It was awkward. The angle was wrong and their noses bumped, and Glorfindel went incredibly still when, in his enthusiasm, Kili accidentally bit his lip. But then he shifted, tilting his head and lifting a hand to cup Kili’s jaw. He kissed back instead of pulling away, and joy bloomed in Kili’s chest.

“I had wondered if you would gain the courage to do that,” he murmured when Kili pulled back.

“You knew?” Kili asked.

“Aye.” Glorfindel paused and Kili had to nudge him with his elbow to get him to continue. “I knew a Dwarf, long ago, who looked upon an Elf as you look on me now. He told me then that your people only love once, if they love at all, and that Eol was his One.”

“I didn’t know it had happened before,” Kili said.

“It was a very long time ago,” Glorfindel replied, “and unrequited. Eol desired another and took her for his wife, though your people were ever dear to him.”

Kili hummed. The knowledge that he was not the only Dwarf to have loved an Elf, while it wouldn’t help him with his uncle should Thorin ever find out, did make him feel a little better. Some of the weight he had been feeling lifted from his shoulders and he tipped his head back to look at the sky, breathing deeply the sweet night air. Then he leaned over to his Elf again and pressed their brows together so that he could feel Glorfindel’s breath on his face.

“You don’t mind?” he asked.

Glorfindel chuckled. “Not at all,” he said. He brushed their lips together once more and sighed. “Nor do I fear the consequences of loving one who is mortal.”

Kili wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, or what the consequences were, so he chose instead to press their lips together and tangle his fingers in soft, golden hair. Glorfindel was willing, at least, and Kili’s ardour was returned with passion.

…

He hovered over Glorfindel uncertainly. His Elf looked up at him with darkened eyes and licked his kiss-swollen lips. The bed they were in was Glorfindel’s, but in all honesty Kili hadn’t paid all that much attention to his surroundings. The bed was soft; Thorin was with Lord Elrond and so not present to see him sneak away, and Glorfindel was utterly addictive.

Kili had his One spread out underneath him. He just wished he knew what to do with him.

Instinct had had him unfastening the ties on Glorfindel’s tunic and drawing it up over his head only to freeze at the flawless, hairless chest that was revealed. Glorfindel was lean and alabaster pale and so utterly different from anything Kili had ever seen before that the shock had knocked him out of his momentum.

He found himself wishing that he was older and more experienced, although Dwarves very rarely lay with anyone that wasn’t their One – or better read so that he’d have some more knowledge of what to do next. But Glorfindel urged him on – and down – and Kili found himself relaxing into the rhythm of kissing once more.

His hands and lips found tender places – nipples, hips, and the pointed tips of his ears – that drew gasps and moans from his lover. And Kili found himself groaning into Glorfindel’s shoulder and thrusting against his belly when long fingers scratched the sensitive skin at the base of his spine.

Glorfindel pushed him away just long enough to reach for a vial of oil, which he then pressed into Kili’s hands. Kili promptly spilled it when he realised what Glorfindel wanted him to do, but managed to salvage enough to be thorough in the preparations he was gently guided through.

Their bodies slid over each other awkwardly, and Glorfindel winced ever so slightly when Kili pushed into him, and the sheets were thoroughly ruined, but it was incredible. The feel of being inside of his One, of giving him – once he’d adjusted – pleasure, was beyond anything Kili had ever experienced before. Glorfindel clawed at his back and shoulders and dug his heels into Kili’s buttocks, urging him harder and deeper.

Kili couldn’t last; didn’t last. Once he’d caught his breath, he withdrew and slithered down the length of Glorfindel’s body to take him into his mouth. He licked and sucked with as much skill as he had, and as a result it was sloppy and unrefined. But he swallowed when Glorfindel climaxed into his mouth and suckled his length clean before pulling away.

He settled down against Glorfindel’s side and rested his head on one of the less oily patches on his chest. His heart was thundering still under his ribs, and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning like an idiot. Glorfindel’s hand tangled in his hair and his thumb ran idly over the curve of Kili’s ear.

“Rest now, meleth-nin,” he whispered. “I will awake you before dawn.”

Kili nodded, closing his eyes, and grinned even more when he felt soft lips brush the top of his head.

…

True to Glorfindel’s word, he’d been woken with enough time to wash and dress before the Company left at dawn. Fili gave him a suspicious look when he joined him, but Kili was thankful – Thorin was too distracted by a conversation with Balin to even notice him appear.

Walking away felt like a knife in the chest, and he risked as many glances back as he could without alerting any of the others to his discomfort. Each time he tried to see if he could spot Glorfindel watching them go – he thought he saw him: a flash of gold in one of the upper windows – and the pressure in his heart was ever-so-slightly relieved.

He would return, he swore to himself. He would see Erebor reclaimed and his uncle enthroned, and then he would return. Damn the consequences – his heart would demand nothing less of him.


End file.
